


Dressed for Dinner

by Millberry_5



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark, Darkish at least, Dubcon Kissing, He agreed to it under duress I think it still counts, Hostage Situations, M/M, Not Beta Read, Obi-Wan's just trying to get through this, Planet Mortis (Star Wars), Plus there's the threat of going after Ahsoka if he doesn't comply, The Son is a creep and a jerk, The Son is enjoying watching him struggle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millberry_5/pseuds/Millberry_5
Summary: In which Obi-Wan manages to strike a deal on Mortis before he and Anakin resort to fighting Ahsoka, before the Son thinks she's outlived her usefulness. She's a useful hostage after all, even when technically exchanged for the other man. And the Son has plans for this man, and he plans to enjoy making those plans come to fruition.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/The Son | Fanged God
Comments: 13
Kudos: 98
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Dressed for Dinner

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lionwingz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lionwingz/gifts).



The Son entered the man’s room and found the redhead sitting at the small table by the window, looking out over the sublime landscape of his domain. The son found himself pleased and displeased at the same time.

On the one hand, the man hadn’t jumped up to bare his teeth in beautifully controlled aggression at him. And had even changed into some of the clothing he had provided.

On the other hand, the man was actually ignoring him, even though he knew his entrance had been noticed. And the man had not changed into the outfit he had sent him for dinner.

That would not do. Not when he could have things to his preference.

“Should I be taking this as invitation, then?” the Son said, crossing the room until he could put one hand on the table and lean over the other man, finally drawing the other’s attention. “Would you like me to help you change? Undress you, peel off that cloth layer by layer, and then tie you up again in another set of my clothes?” the Son suggested, not bothering to hide the predatory smugness in his voice nor smirk.

“I am more than capable of undressing and redressing myself. And I am also capable of eating dinner in the clothes I am wearing at the present.”

Stubborn. Stubborn man. With that strong, disciplined spirit that made the Son want to break it all apart and refashion the man in front of him into something new. Something greater. Something his.

“I’m sure you’re quite capable of both of those things. But there’s only one I want at the moment. And you’re aware of what I’ll be doing if you refuse to play along in this game of ours.”

Truly, some of the best luck he’d had in millennia was the young girl. Too young to stand a chance of protecting herself against him. With a master unable to protect her either. A useful pawn, a liability worth keeping alive for her simultaneous potential and current weakness. The perfect hostage, the Son didn’t even have to host her anymore to keep this man here and compliant.

Relatively compliant, the Son corrected, observing the cool glare the man was now directing at him.

“It’s also a bit difficult to do what you want without access to said clothing,” the man informed him tersely.

The Son let his grin grow a little wider before turning, allowing the other to shift out of his seat and move across the room to where tonight’s outfit had been laid out on the bed. The man took the clothing and shoes, casually ignoring the accessories, before retreating into the fresher.

The son let himself snort at the petty defiance before crossing to the bed himself. The circlet, the bracelets, the necklace, the extra decorative belt and its accessories were laying there innocently, just waiting to be used. They were made of fine materials that the Son assumed he had gathered some centuries ago or so and decorated luxuriously through his will and utilization of the Force.

He inspected the items for a minute or so more, letting himself enjoy the idea of them on the other man. Once he was fairly certain that the other had finished changing, he gathered the items and went to the fresher, opening the door with the Force without bothering to announce himself.

The man quickly switched his face a grimace to a glare as he looked at the Son’s reflection in the mirror, although he kept his hand where it had been fiddling with the gold collar that kept his shirt up.

“Red really does suit you, my dear,” the Son said, drinking in the sight of tight black clothes and red transparent fabric. He couldn’t quite decide if he preferred where the red met with the black or the man’s bare skin.

“I have no need for any particular colors, and even less desire for the suitability of said colors,” the man replied, sounding very much like the Jedi he’d been raised to be. The son let the wave of annoyance pass through him, out across the room, and into the ether of his domain. The other man would let go of that nonsense eventually. And he had the time to wait.

“But I have need and desire for you in a suitable outfit. And this doesn’t look quite right yet, does it?” The Son approached the man with another grin, putting a hand on his shoulder and guiding him down onto the stool set in front of the counter.

The man complied with only a little resistance and unyielding posture.

The Son laid the accessories on the counter before them, making sure the other man would be able to see the light gleam off of the stones and gold and get absorbed by the black. He reached for the belt first, only a little surprised by the hand darting out to try to take it first.

He caught the other man’s hand, reveling the small amusement he felt at the attempt. So clever, so stubborn.

So helpless.

The Son moved the hand away and placed it on the counter, sending a small flare of Dark out as a warning.

There was a fraction of a second where he could feel the nervousness and anger rile up in the other man before it was pushed down and the man hardened his face into something severe.

So, so helpless.

He reached for the belt again, grabbing it successfully this time and slowly dragging it off the counter. He let himself indulge, because why shouldn’t he? And dragged the belt around the man’s waist slowly, making sure to lean in close and let his hands and arms drag alongside the man as well. A warm, well-muscled body was under his hands and his cloth, and it was his right to appreciate it as he wished.

He fastened the belt and made sure to adjust much more than he had to before moving on.

Next, the bracelets. Absorbent, Dark black with gold inscriptions on the bands. In the old script he was nearly certain only he, his father, and his sister remembered. Perhaps he would teach the other man.

There were two bands for each wrist, and the other man let him manipulate his arms without enthusiasm or resistance, just stared straight ahead without anything beyond a vaguely disapproving expression as he had since he’d decided to behave.

The Son wondered how long the man would manage to keep that up.

The necklace was a red pendant with little other adornment, perfectly sized to help fill up the expanse of exposed chest.

He could feel the other’s pulse pick up as he dragged his hands up and around and behind his neck. It was such a vulnerable spot, after all. He secured the clasp before leaving one hand on the back of the other’s neck, moving his other hand back around and down to play with the pendant, letting the light catch the on the pendants gems and enjoying the direct skin contact between his fingers and the man’s chest.

He tried to send through a small amount of Dark into the other man through the contact, but it took only a second for the other man to sense it and flare out with his own light, chasing away the intrusion.

Oh well. At least it got the other to glare directly at him instead of staring blankly ahead. The son smiled victoriously at drawing out the reaction as he reached for the circlet.

It too, was so black it absorbed light, had similarly black string dropping from it at certain places, to dangle small sculptures of gold and red gems. He hemmed and hawed as he placed it upon the man’s head, giving some theatrics to putting it on, and making the other sit still while he moved his hands around his head.

The hair was beautifully soft.

The Son settled the circlet, and arranged the dropped decorations with care and amusement.

No matter how much the man clearly still thought of him as an enemy, still had every instinct screaming to fight and flee, the man did not act on it. He was fairly certain that it was more due to the deal promising the safety of the little girl, than it was due to the man recognizing that a fight would be pointless for him.

The Son was both amused by the disciplined spiritedness and disappointed at the missed opportunity to beat the man into the ground, into submission.

Perhaps he should offer a spar to the other man.

“Well look at that, now you look right,” the Son said, making sure to lean close to the other again, so that he couldn’t look at himself without also seeing him.

“I dare say that I would not look out of place in a senator’s pod,” the man said calmly. And so politely the Son knew it was an insult.

The Son hummed, going along with the small rebellion as he turned the man’s head toward him and leaned down.

There were two hands in between them before he could half the distance, one close to his mouth and one close to the other man’s.

“That was not part of the deal,” the other man said, trembling steel in his voice.

“I never promised that I wouldn’t.”

Half of the man’s face curled up in a snarl. The aggression and building fury tasted near euphoric.

“How about this?” The Son prodded, feeling excited at the man perking up at the first sign of opportunity, even if he remained obviously guarded. “You let me take this, and then offer your mouth to actual conversation over dinner, and I’ll let you see the girl tomorrow after you wake up,” he tempted.

It would be through a scrying pool again, of course, and that brat of a potential Chosen One had a decent chance of showing up as well. But the hope and affirmation the man would get through it wouldn’t be worth what he was giving in exchange. The man would be in denial about that, of course, instead clinging to the righteousness of an idealized facsimile of the Light that he was brought up with. But the Son was quite happy to take advantage of that misbelief.

The man glanced a few times between keeping eye contact with him and looking down to where his lips would be visible if they weren’t covered.

Eventually, body still tense, still so cautious but not cautious enough, the man lowered his hands.

“Alright,” he said, soft. Still cautious but soft and giving in.

The Son reached back for the man’s jaw and tilted it up before locking their lips together.

The man did nothing but let it happen for a few moments before his brain must have started working again. It was the obvious plan for one as helpless in the man’s position. Pretend to give in until the opponent’s guard was down and then escape when they aren’t looking.

The man was kissing back now, and quite well too. He was clearly experienced in this, and the Son appreciated the skill; how nice it made him feel. He wondered how much better it would get once the man let himself truly enjoy as one could only do after accepting the true, undeniable power of the Dark.

It would be quite fun to corrupt this man into something undeniably his. He was going to cajole the other into giving him all he was piece by piece, and not give back enough to provide the escape the man sought. The other wouldn’t even realize he was losing the war of attrition until he was too far gone, but the illusion of escape would keep him from seeking other paths.

The Son broke the kiss first, pleased to see the flush on the other’s face.

He was going to greatly enjoy this sort of thing for a long time, he could tell. All he had to do was keep the man by his side, through whatever means he had to, until the man was his truly.

The man would need a title, wouldn’t he? If he was going to be the Son’s. It wasn’t as though they had names, they had no use for those anymore.

“Come, the table is ready,” he said, dragging the man up off the stool and out of the fresher, not bothering with being forceful when the man complied.

The Consort, perhaps?

That title had a nice feeling to it, it felt quite appropriate. Some may even see it as a weak position and underestimate the man. The Son was planning on keeping the man weak to him, but to others? When the Son was through with him, the man would be undeniably powerful, dangerous, and Dark.

It was another thing, beyond this dinner he was leading the man to, to look forward to. The Son was not satisfied with what he had here, and he very much planned to satisfy himself, both in the present and the future, no matter how much he had to work, no matter how much he had to change, destroy, and recreate.

He was going to leave this place. And when that happened, he would take over the galaxy, and expand his influence beyond that as he got bored. For his future position, it was only right that he had the best Consort possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Obi-Wan is definitely in over his head and then some lol


End file.
